Dorian Bayley
Bone dating
My lecturers say when Māui caught
this island by his kuia’s jaw,
water fled the mountains like
a seal’s surfacing back.
My lecturers say sometimes they take
a kurī from the earth, and it
lies perfectly articulated
like it ran fresh out of its skin.
My lecturers say after the 60s
bones remember
the smell of bombs.
Some time from now, if you are found,
they’ll make your bones sing;
and they will sing of how you broke
both wrists in Year 3.
But this is our trouble —
they will not say
the monkey bars that morning
dewed like an orange
and you gripped their foundling heat like dawn itself
before you slipped.
They will not sing as skin —
how I came to hold your calluses —
How Teacher knew
it was bad because
you didn’t even
cry.
Dorian Bayley (he/they) is a transmasc writer, lady knight, and student of English and Anthropology at Otago. His work has recently appeared in takahē, transitive rag, and elsewhere. You can see more on his website here.